


(When They Only Hear You Whisper) I'll Be Loud For You

by VeelaWings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy Singing, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Harry Potter Has Nightmares, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24713248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeelaWings/pseuds/VeelaWings
Summary: Potter must have been having nightmares again. He was restless in his bed across the room. Moonlight shone through his open bed curtains and highlighted the contours of his body, the grimace on his face blatant. His thick blanket was kicked down, one leg still covered by his twisted sheet, the musk of his sweat pungent in their small dorm. Low grunts accounted for the majority of the noise he made, but it was peppered by the occasional groan or unclear shout of words. However, ‘No,’ was always clear.Draco hated it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 56
Kudos: 405
Collections: HD Wireless 2020





	(When They Only Hear You Whisper) I'll Be Loud For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaesterChill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaesterChill/gifts).



> A giant thank you and all my love to E for all the handholding, beta work, and encouragement.  
> (Also for not yelling at me for scrapping my work twice before writing this piece.) 💖
> 
> My prompt for this fest was #156 There for You - Martin Garrix/Troye Sivan || [MV](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pNNMr5glICM) || [Lyric Video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8bXPJ60wuZc)

Draco spent his summer — as mandated by his probation — at Hogwarts, rebuilding not only the castle but also himself. While removing all of the physical rubble and debris, he had also taken the time to examine his own beliefs and had taken out the rubbish in himself. He had learned to separate the views Lucius had instilled in him from birth, from the observations and silent opinions he had started to form once he had been on his own in school — around half-bloods and Muggle-borns.

His noticeable change — while not happening overnight — had gone a long way to restoring his name among the school staff and others helping with the reconstruction, and easing the concerns he’d had about returning for the newly created ‘8th year’. The few friendships he’d made with students from other houses had carried into the new school year and eased his transition into being _‘redeemed’_ as Headmistress McGonagall had put it. Even the news of not returning to the Slytherin dungeons couldn’t depress him. The idea of all the 8th year students forming their own unity driven house, wasn’t such a bad idea when Draco ruminated on it. 

No, none of that was an issue. However, the Sorting Hat assigning him and Potter to be roommates in their own en-suite? _That_ level of incompatibility was a daily disaster.

Potter, Weasley, and Granger had spent the summer as the Ministry’s golden Kneazles, trotted out, and shown off at every event the political sphere could seemingly come up with. Granted, some were very meaningful; Draco had donated to several of the causes he agreed with once he had control over the Malfoy Vaults. Still, Draco had been here all summer, and Potter had not. 

The sense of righteousness Potter carried with him bloomed when he was around Draco — and only Draco — as he had noticed. It was becoming unbearable. And despite how lousy his days were when he couldn’t spend his time with Neville, Luna, Padma, or Blaise, the nights were worse. 

Potter must have been having nightmares _again_. He was restless in his bed across the room. Moonlight shone through his open bed curtains and highlighted the contours of his body, the grimace on his face blatant. His thick blanket was kicked down, one leg still covered by his twisted sheet, the musk of his sweat pungent in their small dorm. Low grunts accounted for the majority of the noise he made, but it was peppered by the occasional groan or unclear shout of words. However, ‘No,’ was always clear.

Draco hated it.

He hated watching and listening to Potter toss and turn every night, obviously suffering from nightmares, his mind clearly still on the war. He hated seeing Potter struggle to start off the day every morning, his dark circles growing worse and his mood dampening to match. Potter wasn’t even happy around his friends anymore, after the first month of poor sleep. Always grouchy and tired, inventing new ways to try and blame his hardship on Draco, although Draco made himself as scarce as possible during the day. 

As selfish as Draco tried to make himself believe he was, the treatment he received from Potter wasn’t the worst bit to deal with if he was truly honest. It was watching Potter, _perfect Saint Potter_ , suffer from Dementor-like nightmares two metres away. The first term was coming to a close this week and it was still happening, almost every night. 

It seemed Draco wouldn’t be sleeping tonight either. With a sigh, Draco reached for the wand beside his pillow and cast a warming charm on the wood floor. He sat up and stretched with a groan, then he tossed his pillow one final look of longing before sliding out of his bed, a bit chilled in only his pants and elegant nightshirt. Something Potter had mocked him for that first night upon discovery.

Draco’s bare feet were quiet as he moved, lifting a desk chair high enough to not drag and screech as he carried it over to Harry’s bedside. It was a routine he’d grown to despise but couldn’t help to avoid. The one night he had tried to abstain, he had lain awake until dawn, just as tired but more miserable for denying his new moral compass of the kind thing to do. Moments like this made Draco miss being a selfish, spoiled twat.

If only he had gone back to sleep that first night Potter woke him, instead of sitting up and casting a Lumos, asking him what he was saying. If only he hadn’t pushed when there was no response, hadn’t stormed over to pull aside his bed curtain to find Potter still asleep. If only he hadn’t stayed, watching Potter twitch in the middle of an obvious nightmare and given compassion time to sink in, given his mind time to come to a conclusion.

Potter was an orphan, had been most of his life. Without knowing every detail, Draco had heard the rumours and had them loosely confirmed by Neville. He knew Potter’s relatives hadn’t treated him well. Draco knew Potter hadn’t grown up as he’d done, with a loving mother always a corridor length’s away, ready to soothe any fears or troubles. Whether by a bedtime story, a quietly sung lullaby, or sometimes just holding Draco close and stroking his hair until he was calm enough to go back to sleep. Potter probably never experienced that, at least not to his memory.

That was how Draco found himself that first night Potter had a nightmare. Draco stood over his bed, mind racing as a hand stretched out to soothe messy curls away from his face before he had realised what he’d done. His gentle petting had continued for a few minutes until Potter settled and Draco had been able to return to his own bed and sleep. The only time he was able to rest on his own after comforting a sleeping Potter. The second time it happened, Draco had made the mistake of holding his hand and was then unable to break free until early morning when Potter’s hold had finally become slack enough to slip out.

Thus, the chair was necessary. Draco positioned it and cast a Cushioning Charm before he sat down, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes and cast a Tempus. At least he managed to get two hours of sleep tonight before the noise woke him up. It was more than the half-hour he had yesterday. 

He sighed quietly and watched as Potter thrashed about on top of his mattress, waiting for his limbs to pause so Draco could hold Potter’s hand in his own, offering a comforting squeeze that he repeated every time Potter twitched and acted like he was going to kick out again. Draco was tired of healing the odd bruise here and there that he received from his efforts. No good deed goes unpunished and all that rot. Draco snorted and rubbed the itch in his nose.

After a shorter time than usual, Potter calmed down from his physical exertion, although his grip on Draco’s hand never let up. As if Draco was a lifeline he was holding onto in the dark. The realisation made Draco uncomfortable and sad. So he followed through with the rest of his routine, stroking Potter’s hair with his free hand while he quietly sang his favourite lullaby that his mother used to sing for him.

*************************

Harry woke up with a quiet yawn and attempted to rub his eyes… Only one of his hands couldn’t move? Disgruntled, he dug a knuckle into the corner of his right eye and dislodged the built-up gunk that kept him squinting in the dark. After a moment of blinking, adjusting to the low light coming in from parted curtains, Harry wished he could put the gunk back and go to sleep again. He was holding Malfoy’s hand. No, correction — Malfoy was holding _his_ hand. 

Malfoy was sitting in a chair that had been dragged over from his desk, slumped over in the most horrendous posture any Malfoy has probably ever had, with his cheek on Harry’s thigh and holding onto _Harry’s hand_. Like Harry was some sort of invalid in the hospital wing, that Madame Pomfrey had given up on. And Malfoy kept squeezing it erratically in his sleep, the same way the hand in his nightmares did when it led him out of the Forbidden Forest and back to safety… Oh.

_Oh._

The singing angel from his dream was… Malfoy. Except, it couldn’t possibly be him. Malfoy didn’t like him, he didn’t care and there was absolutely no way in bloody hell that he would spend his nights hunched over and… tending to Harry in such an embarrassing manner. _Merlin,_ the prat couldn’t even let Harry have his nightmares in peace and privacy. No, he had to stick his pointy nose into Harry’s business and come… help.

A sour feeling sunk into Harry’s stomach and it resembled ungratefulness if he studied it too closely. That just wouldn’t do. 

Harry wrinkled his nose and tried to extract his hand from Malfoy’s hold. Perhaps he should have approached this task with more care since his clumsy yanking did nothing but jolt Malfoy awake. In fact, it was so abrupt, Malfoy began making quiet shushing noises before he was even sat up straight. He started squeezing Harry’s hand again as he leaned over to pet Harry’s curls and brush them away from his face and… Oh. That was quite nice, actually. Harry took advantage of Malfoy’s sleepy squinted eyes not seeing just yet and closed his own, both to save them the embarrassment of Malfoy being caught outright and so Harry could experience just what happened when Malfoy thought he was suffering from a nightmare. 

The hand-holding and hair-petting weren’t as horrible as he assumed it would be. The opposite really. It wasn’t until Malfoy began to sing his usual lullaby in a husky tone, voice rough with sleep, that Harry realised the full extent of how completely fucked he was.

The guardian angel wasn’t a creation of his own mind to combat the horrors he dreamed up. The warm guiding hand, the light melodic voice, those were all Malfoy— every single time for months. It was all adding up and making sense now. Malfoy’s random hours, obscenely early mornings, falling asleep during classes and skipping out on meals and other group outings. He always looked exhausted like Harry did at the start of term, before be began sleeping better, because apparently, Malfoy was staying up to insure Harry was okay.

All Harry had done was complain and be suspicious of Malfoy, assuming he was up to something since everyone seemed to be charmed by him this year. The bollocks excuse was that he was turning over a new leaf, which actually was looking more like the truth by the minute. 

Harry bit his lip and felt the prickle of unease shiver across his skin, deeply unpleasant and sharply contrasting the kind attention being paid to him. Malfoy was coddling him, serving him the best treatment he’d ever given since they met. While Harry had been acting on his worst behaviour outside of the bathroom in their sixth year. Harry was, unfortunately, experiencing a moment of self-reflection that was unavoidable and he hated every second of it.

The pain must have shown on his face because suddenly, the hand in his hair migrated, knuckles were gently caressing his cheekbone in a repetitive down sweeping manner. Then fingertips were pressed into his forehead, a massage to relax the muscles in his face before a thumb ran across his brows, smoothing them down. Harry swallowed down the noise of contentment building up in his chest, not yet aware that the singing had ended.

Harry was not going to mewl and whimper like some happily trained house pet over a little bit of physical affection. No matter how much warmth coiled in his belly and radiated up into his heart. Like some unwanted acid reflux. He wasn’t… Surely, he wasn’t that pathetic after all this time?

“I know you’re awake,” Malfoy sighed.

Harry froze, his heart racing, eyes squeezed shut, palms sweating. Malfoy was going to notice that. Brilliant.

“Potter—”

“I’m sleeping. I’m talking in my sleep.”

Malfoy snorted and dropped his hand, finally. “No, you’re not. You snore.”

“You snore, too!”

“No, I exhale, audibly. My breathing has not reached snore levels of volume.”

What a load of dragonshit. Harry shoved himself up and glared at Malfoy, his finger poking him in the chest in an effort to truly make his point. “You snore and I can hear it when you fall asleep.”

“Of course, I snore, Potter. Thank you for recovering your dignity and looking me in the eye for this petty squabble,” Malfoy said, his voice tired and lacking all usual bite. There were dark circles under his eyes and lines on one side of his face from falling asleep with his head on Harry’s thigh. His shoulders were slumped in a way that would feel like agony later and his lips looked chapped. While it was an improvement over sixth year, Malfoy still looked a little bit like he was falling apart. “If you’re quite done?” Malfoy raised a brow and jutted his chin down to their joined hands. Harry was suddenly the one clutching onto Malfoy. “There’s still time for me to get an hour or two of rest and I desperately need it.”

“No one asked you to come over here.” That was not what Harry meant to say. Why did he say that? Why was he making this worse?

“I would’ve preferred a ‘Thank you’, but I suppose that’s asking too much.” Malfoy shoved his chair back, the legs scraping loudly in the quiet of the night and stood up as if to leave. To return to his own bed, where he couldn’t pamper Harry. “You can let go now.”

“No.” Harry tightened his hold and after a moment’s pause yanked Malfoy closer, feeling an unacceptable amount of joy when Malfoy tripped and landed across his body on the bed. 

“What the fuck, Potter!”

“Go to sleep.”

“I was trying to, you arrogant—”

“Here.” Harry let go of Malfoy’s hand as he struggled to regain his balance and stand up, his eyes shifting over spots on the blanket while avoiding Malfoy’s gaze. “Go to sleep here.”

Malfoy straightened his white nightshirt from where it had been rucked up to his waist in the squirmish, letting Harry stew in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. Maybe this was a horrible idea. Maybe he should have kept his stupid mouth shut. Maybe Malfoy should never have held his hand and pet his hair and calmed in his sleep and left him dependent on… 

“Well, I can’t lay down if you don’t scoot over. I’m not sleeping in the chair again. It’s murder on my back.”

Harry unsuccessfully bit back a smile and moved over so Malfoy had room to climb in beside him. Which he did. His bare feet were too cold, his shoulders too broad, his elbows too pointy. When he summoned his pillow from across the room he did nothing to stop it from smacking Harry in the face. They were laid out on their backs, side by side with not enough space in between them to keep from touching. It was sort of brilliant in a way that Harry had no desire to examine closely.

“Night, Malfoy.”

“If we’re going to cuddle your nightmares away, at least call me Draco.”

“That’s not— It’s not— We’re not talking about this.”

“No, we’re talking about this tomorrow after double Charms and over a pot of tea.”

“Fine. Draco.”

Draco turned over onto his side and stared at Harry for a period that felt like hours, grey eyes searching his face for something Harry didn’t think was there. Apparently it was. Draco smiled and stroked Harry’s curls, just once. “Goodnight, Harry.”

That warmth in his stomach bubbled up and overtook Harry like a tidal wave he couldn’t anticipate. His toes curled up in his wool socks, his lips stretched into a smile without permission. He felt like a dolt and he was embarrassed, but he didn’t hate it this time, and he wasn’t sure why. It was too late to mull it over now. Better to roll with the punches and accept his fate like he’d done every other time before. At least this one didn’t seem like it was trying to kill him.

“Goodnight, Draco,” Harry whispered, his voice scratchy with emotion and shy. Where on earth had that come from? He huffed and turned on his side with his back to Draco, closing his eyes so he could go to sleep like they agreed on. These were thoughts to think about with tea.

Still, Harry couldn’t help but feel like they were moving into uncharted territory when Draco wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him back to nestle into his chest.

To cuddle his nightmares away.

**Author's Note:**

> 🎵 This work is part of H/D Wireless, a song inspired, anon, Drarry fest with its home on tumblr! 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, shower our content creators with all the love you have to give by leaving kudos ❤️ and comments 💌 on their work!
> 
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